


Dropkick Off a Cliff

by richyee



Category: South Park
Genre: Cartman-centric, Emotional Manipulation, Self-Harm, Therapy, because he's cartman, but everyone else is glad that he's sad, but its 1:32 am so, but not in the way you think?, if only i was as good at this as kylebiased and sleepyeule lmao, sad cartman is sad, there's other people and i'll make these tags neater when the story is done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 11:38:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16680892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richyee/pseuds/richyee
Summary: Cartman has always been loud, narcissistic, and rude, among a multitude of other negative qualities, but if you accused him of pulling shit? He'd confess because he was proud of what he'd done. Apparently, Principal Victoria can't get that through her head, which sends Cartman on a train ride through hell.





	Dropkick Off a Cliff

“So, Eric, I’m assuming you know why you’re in here… again, for the third time this week?”

Cartman looked up at his bubbly, blonde principal with disinterest. 

“Funnily enough, I don’t, Principal Victoria,” he sneered, “would you care to enlighten me?”

Principal Victoria sighed, “Eric you can’t spray paint stuff like ‘Kyle Broflovski likes sucking Stan Marsh’s fat cock’ on school property and expect me to not know it was you. We’ve been lenient with your troublemaking tendencies in the past, but I’m afraid you’re just too old for these kinds of shenanigans now. With the number of transgressions you’ve had in the past the school board has decided to give you mandatory therapy sessions-“  
Cartman opened his mouth to argue, but she quickly shut him down.

“-instead of a year-long sentence to juvy. And due to your financial situation, we’re also paying for it, so if you could show up it would be much appreciated.”  
He scowled at Principal with such contempt that it was a wonder she hadn’t burst into flames.

“I didn’t fucking do it.”  
She smiled at the obese boy across from her with such a patronizing smile that you’d have trouble believing she didn’t think she was talking to a five-year-old instead of a seventeen-year-old.

“We have video cameras, Eric. There is irrefutable evidence. You’re not even being punished! Would it really be so bad to go to therapy? You have to admit, at least to yourself, you have quite a bit of issues!”

“It was that fat bastard, Clyde.”

“Really, this is just childish now Mr. Cartman. I’ve already contacted your mother and she was absolutely overjoyed that we’re paying for you to go to the therapy! Won’t you at least do it for her?”

Principal Victoria fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat. Cartman never denied what he’d done, ever, he’d taken a somewhat sick pride in his little pranks in the past. He’d boasted to her about graffitiing a swastika on the school entrance in that very same chair. A part of her wondered whether he was telling the truth. But she knew what she’d seen, a fat kid with brown hair a spray can. Certainly, it fit the description of Clyde Donovan, but he stayed relatively out of trouble. Her suspicions were nearly confirmed, now if he would just admit to the crime.

“He wanted to get revenge on me for eating his stupid tacos!”

Cartman stood up abruptly and slammed his hands on the desk, rattling everything on it and successfully scaring Principal Victoria.

“I won’t be fucking blamed for something I didn’t do! It was Clyde goddammit, that retarded midget pig fucker!”

“I’ve been kind enough to tolerate your language up until this point, but please get out if you are going to continue your hissy fit, Eric. I’m sure you have classes to attend.”  
He scoffed at her, but took his hands off her desk, pivoting on his heel and walking out.

“Have fun at the therapist!” she said in a saccharine voice. 

“I’m not fucking going!” he said, mocking her tone and then slamming the door behind him.

But sure enough, Cartman found himself in a stuffy little waiting room at 4 P.M. sharp. His mom was trying to hold his hand while cooing at him.

“Oh Poopsiekins, this is going to be so good for you!”  
She wiped at non-existent tears and smiled, “I’m just really worried that you being so big boned and the other kids bullying you is affecting your mental health. You’ve always been so sensitive, Eric. My precious little poopsie.”

Cartman tuned her out, nodding along idly as she continued prattling on about the benefits of therapy and what a ‘simply amazing’ opportunity this was.  
It was all just bullshit covered in sparkly lies. That was all it was.  
After about 20 minutes, he eyed a girl coming out of the office, her hair raggedy and her eyes red rimmed. What a fucking pussy.

“Eric Cartman?” called the receptionist. Cartman groaned and walked into the office as slowly as he could while being practically pushed into the room by his mom.

“Hello Mrs. Cartman, Eric.” 

A pleasant older man with salt and pepper hair sat behind a smoothly sanded desk with a small bonsai tree on the corner and an endless amount of paperwork in front of him.  
“Please, sit down,” the man motioned to the plush seats in front of him, “I’ve heard a lot about you. Word does travel fast in this small town, I’ve come to find. I’m Doctor Jamison, its very nice to meet you two.” 

Cartman rolled his eyes in exasperation at the old man as his mother gushed over him.  
“Thank you so much for taking in my poopsikins, Doctor Jamison. I don’t know what we’d do, oh-“

Liane started sniffling and dabbing at her eyes, and Jamison handed her a tissue, a sympathetic look on his face.

“My Eric gets bullied so harshly at school, Doctor. His self esteem is so low and I’m so afraid that he’s going to…”  
Her voice dropped to a lower pitch and made a cutting motion at her wrist,  
“do something.”

The Doctor nodded, “Of course Mrs. Cartman,”  
“Liane.” She interrupted. Cartman mentally retched and hoped that this old dude wouldn’t become his mom’s new sugar daddy. The last one was disgusting as fuck, with his cat-girl kink.

“Liane,” He started, “I find that it’s much easier for the patient to open up if it’s a one on one session. Do you mind?...” Jamison looked at the door pointedly.

The ditzy woman took a minute to realize what was being pointed out to her, but immediately got up when she understood.  
“Of course! Be a good boy for mommy, okay Eric?” she cooed at him for the second time today, this time pinching his cheek affectionately for emphasis.

“Sure, whatever Mehm.”  
And then it was just Eric and the shitty therapist at last.  
The overly caring façade of the old bat in front of him dropped almost immediately as the door shut behind his mom.

“You have quite the reputation, Eric.” Jamison stated coldly.

“Naturally.” Cartman replied with equal iciness.

“One could even say you’re beyond saving, with all the bullshit you’ve pulled. However, my goal is to genuinely help my clients. I think if you listen to me then you can become a much better person. You might even become a person that other people can tolerate, a skill that seems out of reach for you presently.”  
Okay, that stung his pride a little bit. He wasn’t a dumbass, he knew that people didn’t particularly like him, but he it was like he didn’t have any redeemable qualities. He’d saved Kyle a shit ton! That had to count for something, right? Of course it did.

“I think you’re full of bullshit, Doctor.”

“And I think you’re a sad little fat kid with no friends, we both have our opinions, Eric.”

“I thought therapists were supposed to help?”

“You’d be hard pressed to find anyone who cares if you die, much less care enough to want to help you with anything.”

The usually icy barricade behind Cartman’s eyes splintered, but he refused to let this crazy bitch break him. Jamison grinned wickedly, seeing the fat boy’s resilience crack.

“So, this is what I’m thinking, Eric, I think that if you ate one meal a day and actually made an effort to exercise at all, you could lose weight rapidly. The public adores skinny people! Eat as much celery at lunch as you want!”

“All I’m hearing is that you want me to give up cheesy poofs or you’ll bully me? That’s pathetic.” Cartman looked at his nails in disinterest, threats never daunted him. This asshole was retarded if he thought he could scare him with words.  
Suddenly, Cartman’s head was smashed against the glass paperweight on the desk in front of him.

“What you’re hearing, Lard-ass, is that if you don’t shape up, I’m going to make your life a living hell. You do not deserve sympathy from me, you do not deserve sympathy from anyone. You will starve yourself until I am satisfied. Do you understand?”  
Cartman heard ringing in his head, tiny pieces of glass were embedded in his forehead.  
And for the first time in a long time, he was terrified.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes sir.”

“Clean yourself up and get out of my office.”

Cartman stepped into the side bathroom, and heard the therapist telling his mom lies, that he'd "thrown a tantrum" and was one of "the more troubled patients".  
Bullshit.  
He picked the glass out carefully, wiping his forehead with paper towels.

"Don't forget, he's on a strict diet. Celery is key, Liane!"

Stepping out of the bathroom, he quietly stood next to his mom as she waved goodbye to the receptionist.

"You're already behaving so much better, Poopsiekins. Things can only get better from here!"

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this is NOT an accurate representation of therapists. There is no therapist who will emotionally or physically abuse you like this and if you need help, please actively search for it. The therapist in this behaves like this in order to act as a plot device. Thank you.


End file.
